


Wings of Friends

by TheStrange_One



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Body Hatred, Epiphany, Fluff, Hopefully Feels, It is now, M/M, Mutual Preening, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wings, is that a tag, more of a parasite, okay, preening, there's a disease running lose, two idiots in love, wing binder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:36:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: Ever since the spider bite, Peter has refused to allow anyone to see his wings. Wade has always been careful who was allowed to touch his own wings.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 426





	Wings of Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [take these broken wings (and learn to fly)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21456688) by [snarkymuch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch). 
  * Inspired by [Broken Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22691698) by [BL4CKB377Y](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BL4CKB377Y/pseuds/BL4CKB377Y), [CircleUp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleUp/pseuds/CircleUp). 



> I have not forgotten my main fic! I will complete it! I just needed to work on something soft, and that's not where the other fic is at. One more thing: the lullaby that Peter sings is 100% my own creation. If you feel the need to critique it, please be kind, my first time writing a lullaby.
> 
> I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. Stay safe and healthy everyone!

Peter made sure that the door was locked. He knew the apartment was locked, but the apartment had windows. The bathroom didn’t. Not a lot of people were willing to have a bathroom with no window, which meant this apartment was perfect for him. And cheap.

He stared at the door for a moment. He knew he was alone in the apartment, but he still waited to see if someone was going to rattle the knob. There was no one there to rattle it; he knew that, but he was still horrified at the idea that someone might try to burst in on him again…

Nothing. Good. He took off his shirt and bindings and then stretched his wings. He kept his eyes closed as he carefully did the stretching exercises recommended by the doctor.

God, that had been an embarrassing trip. Aunt May had panicked when he’d started binding his wings. Thank goodness the doctor had just assumed it was typical teenage angst over whether or not the wings looked good. Everyone wanted perfect looking wings, after all.

Peter hadn’t really given his wings much thought. They’d been a downy brown with white speckles, and they’d been strong enough to get him into the air when he needed it. Besides, there was nothing wrong with brown wings; the majority of the populace had brown wings.

Then he’d been bitten by the spider. True, the webbing was cool. True, being able to stick any surface he wanted was pretty awesome, not going to lie. And the enhanced strength was great, not to mention the enhanced healing factor (probably the only reason his wings hadn’t atrophied), also great.

But. His wings. What the mutation did to his wings.

He shuddered and felt his feathers bristle at the emotion. He gave one more long, worried look at the bathroom doorknob before he turned his attention to his wings. He knew there was no one to burst in on him—but he wanted to be _certain._ As always looking at the wings made him slightly nauseous.

The feathers, which had once been normal, average brown, were now mostly clear.  That would have been bad enough; he could have passed off clear feathers as a bleaching accident. No, what made his wings truly disgusting were the colors. Bits of red, blue, and white— _moved_ inside the sheaths. They weren’t like spots of color that were only visible when light hit the feathers a certain way—oh no. They actually  _moved_ . His wings looked like someone had stuck color-changing LED strips in a clear, viscous solution. Disgusting.

But Peter knew better than to neglect his wings too much. When he’d first started binding them his aunt had taken him to (after the body-positivity seminars which did  _not_ apply to him) classes on all the diseases and problems that someone get into if their wings were neglected for too long.

So even though his stomach churned to look at them, he was careful to make sure they were as preened as possible (thank heavens for enhanced flexibility).  Every feather was cleaned, preened, and gently placed back. Loose feathers were pulled (to be burned).

A noise startled him and he looked up, eyes wide at the door. He remembered when Flash had tried to force the bathroom door in gym and his breathing got quick as his vision tunneled and black spots danced in front of him.

Nothing. The apartment was silent. Well, the apartment was as silent as the lack of soundproofing would allow. He let out a slow breath, forcing his breathing back to normal. He gripped the edge of the sink as he shook in reaction. He was still safe. His secret was still safe.

He tucked his wings back against his back and quickly bound them up again,  snapping the binder into place . He didn’t want to risk anyone seeing them; no matter how small a risk it was. After all, the only view from his apartment was the wall of the next building. Not just a wall, but a blank wall with no windows. Still, he hadn’t been able to afford any kind of covering for his windows, so he was afraid to walk into the main part of the apartment with his wings free.

After pulling a shirt on over his head he unlocked and opened the bathroom door—to find MJ on his couch. He sighed; he wasn’t even surprised. The brunette frowned and looked him over. “You don’t even let your wings free in your own home?” she demanded.

“Not when other people can walk in here like they own the place, no,” said Peter as he walked with resignation towards his fridge. MJ had always had her own rules. “And didn’t you know we’re on lockdown?”

He couldn't see her face from his angle, but he could imagine the smirk all to easily. “We’re allowed to go check on people who might not be able to take care of themselves.”

Peter, face safely hidden in the refrigerator, grimaced. After that time MJ had bullied the doorman (whom Peter was half-convinced was just a hobo  _pretending_ to be a doorman) into letting her in the apartment after a particularly bad patrol  and they’d entered to see him bleeding and trying to stitch up one of three stab wounds—she’d be believed. He was certain there was some kind of record somewhere after that hospital trip.

He still wasn’t certain how she’d kept them from taking off his wing binder though.

He grabbed two bottles of sports drink (the generic stuff; couldn't afford brand name), and tossed her one. “ Not that I’m not thrilled to see you,” he said as warmly as possible as he leaned against the wall closest to the chair, “but why are you here?”

She sighed. “Because  it’s not a disease.”

He could lie to her. He was  _supposed_ to lie when someone asked something like that, or deflect. But—this was MJ. She was on to everyone’s bullshit. “No,” he said wearily. “It’s not.” Then he reconsidered. “Well, it kind of is,” he said, “but not like everyone’s thinking.”

She leaned forward, eyes dark. “Tell me,” she ordered.

So he did. “ It’s an alien parasite that spreads the same way as a cold. Thor accidentally brought it.” He felt a wry grin spread across his face. “Turns out there’s a reason we get a shit ton of shots before going to certain countries.”

MJ glared, dark eyes flashing. “And?” she demanded angrily. For once, that anger wasn’t directed at Peter, and he was enjoying the break. “What are they doing about it?”

“They’re working on the cure the Asgardians use for thing.”

“Why not just distribute their cure?”

Peter snorted. “Because humans aren’t gods. If they just distributed the cure as is, it would kill more people than the parasite.”

She took a deep breath and leaned back in the couch. “So, what you’re saying is that they have to make sure the cure is strong enough to kill the parasite, but weak enough it doesn’t also kill us?”

Peter nodded as he took a gulp of his drink. Swinging was thirsty work. Senses tingled in warning just enough for him to dodge the pillow thrown at him. He looked back at her to see that she was glaring at him.

“And?” she demanded. “Why aren’t you helping?”

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Because intern Peter isn’t at a high enough clearance level to know this,” he said, “and  I am helping. I’m keeping the bad guys from coming together while all hands are on deck at the Tower.” He paused and then smiled. “They’ve even called in help from Dr. Reed.”

Her glare did not diminish. “The robotics doctor,” she said, voice dripping with all the scorn that only a biologist would have.

Peter, well used to the tone by now, simply let it slide past him. “And Dr. Doom. Who also seems to be a geneticist; who knew?”

“And what about your wings?” she asked. He could tell that she was satisfied with his answers because she was changing the subject. “When are you going to let them out to stretch?”

“I just did,” he argued. “I was stretching them in the bathroom before you came.”

If anything her frown got deeper. “That’s not healthy,” she said. “ Your wings need proper stretching and  _weight_ . You can’t flap them properly in the bathroom!”

Something inside Peter snapped. “I wouldn’t  _have_ to,” he growled, “if people would stop coming into my apartment uninvited!”

Instead of yelling even harder at him, MJ’s face softened. “Are you still upset about what happened in high school? Peter, Flash is an idiot, and there’s nothing wrong with brown wings.”

There was nothing wrong with brown wings.

Too bad Peter’s wings weren’t brown anymore.

Wade practically  _bounced_ as he flew towards the meeting point. He was working with Peter again! Well, he was working with Spidey, but they were one and the same. 

And the best part? Spidey never shrank away from Wade’s wings. Everyone else did. People made comments about how disgusting the knotted and pocked skin with the bald spots made his wings. Like—rude! Those comments hurt his feelings! But they were also true.

Except that Spidey didn’t think so. He still remembered the first time that Spidey had seen his wings. Half of Wade’s body had been blown clean apart and he regenerated in Spidey’s arms.  It had been  _the best_ regeneration ever. He still had fits of glee over it.

He had woken up to the unfamiliar sensation of someone touching his wing. Not just touching it—oh no. Spidey had been  _preening_ it. Carefully straightening feathers, brushing off dust, pinching fraying feathers back together. It had been the first time in  _years_ anyone had preened Wade’s wings—and the first person was  _Spidey_ !

Ever since then he’d noticed something. If he didn’t have wings in a binder, and they were out in the open, and the two of them were resting—Spidey would sidle over slowly and start preening the wing that was closest to him. And he didn’t even realize he was doing it!

Wade would have just thought that Spidey had a thing for preening wings (a lot of people did), but he didn’t. They’d been on stakeouts with Daredevil, Hawkeye,  and Castle. All three of those kept their wings out (Wade had a secret idea that Daredevil  _liked_ getting his wings broken), and  _not once_ did Spidey even reach for their wings.

He knew it probably meant nothing, but he couldn't help but feel happy about it all the same.  How could he not? Not only was Spidey willing to preen his wings, didn’t seem disgusted by the wings, but had also revealed his identity shortly after! Sure, he hadn’t shown Wade  _his_ wings, but that was minor in the grand scheme of things. Probably all Peter needed was to be sure he could trust Wade. Besides, Wade wasn’t an idiot. He knew that  _no one_ knew what Peter’s wings looked like. Well, no one that the two of them knew, anyway.

He spotted the familiar red, blue, and white suit on a roof and dropped to one of the landing pads on the side. “Spidey!” he called happily. “What’s happening?”

Spider-Man didn’t have the same kind of expressive, emotive mask that Wade did, but Wade was pretty sure the vigilante was smiling under his mask. His tone was warm, anyway. Warmer than Wade needed (deserved), but Wade would take it.

He was selfish that way.

“Well,” said Spider-Man as he moved a little closer to Wade’s cupped wings, “the Avengers have a prototype for the cure.”

“Awesome!” Sure, curing the populace would mean more people out and about than were wanted. Committing crimes against property and each other. Staring at his wings, that he had _just_ gotten comfortable having out and using. But, the sooner the better. Everyone trying to stay inside was like a lid on a pressure cooker that had no vent. Something would have to give.

W ade watched with amusement as Spidey sidled closer. He didn’t think the young hero knew what he was doing, but soon Spidey was partially under one of Wade’s wings. Wade had to work not to flinch in reaction as the fingers came up and began absently grooming at the crooked feathers. He was pretty sure Spider-Man didn’t know that he was grooming the wings. It seemed to be an almost unconscious reaction to being so close to Wade’s wings. 

Not Hawkeye’s wings. Not Daredevil’s wings. Not Castle’s wings. Just Wades. And was it bad that Wade wanted to preen a little every time he thought about it?

“Um-hmm,” said Spider-Man absently as his fingers ghosted along the underside of Wade’s wing.

And if it had been anyone else that close to such a vulnerable part of his wing, he would have killed them. Didn’t matter if they meant to be or not; after Weapon X he knew  _exactly_ how tender that part of the wing was, how easily damaged it was. 

But he trusted Spider-Man. He trusted Peter.

“They’re going to have to make a different version of the vaccine for mutants and mutates,” Spider-Man continued.

Wade could feel himself relaxing under the ministrations and tried to force his mind to focus on what was being said. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Bruce doesn’t think it’s going to work on us; he thinks our mutations might just destroy the vaccine before it has a chance to do its job and stop the parasite.”

“So, we get a separate vaccine? Before or after the general populace?” asked Wade.

“Well, the parasite can live on surfaces for a strangely long period of time, so Tony’s just going to sound a warning to get everyone inside and spritz the whole city with the vaccine.”

“Well, the Tin Can has always been—what kind of warning?” asked Wade suspiciously. He had a bad reaction to certain sounds, something that the playboy should be well aware of considering what happened when an alarm went off at the Tower. The alarm that had sounded far too much like the alarms that had gone off all the time when he was at Weapon X…

The alarm blared.

At first, when the alarm sounded through every phone, television, and digital billboard, Peter wasn’t certain what was happening. He knew it was the alarm for the the vaccine spray had been decided, but he didn’t immediately realize this was that alarm. He did, however, notice the reaction that Wade was having. The mercenary was bent over, curling around himself, wings in awkward positions as he tried to use them both to protect himself and to keep them from getting injured.

Then Peter realized it was the same sound that had made Wade freak out in the lab one time. He ground his teeth; he bet that Tony did it on purpose! Still, he had to get Wade somewhere the other would recognize as safe. Luckily, there was a safe house nearby.

Peter carefully (he didn’t want to set Wade off more) approached. “Hey,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the alarms. “Let me get you out of here.”

No response.

Well, this was what that enhanced spider strength was for, wasn’t it? Peter ducked under the awkwardly held wings and picked Wade up.

No response.

Well, he wasn’t really expecting one. From what he understood, Wade was hiding from the world by hiding in his head. Peter carefully carried him, careful not to jostle, to the safe house.

Like all of Wade’s safe houses, this one had indoor shutters that, when pulled, also turned the place soundproof. Unlike most of Wade’s safe houses, this one had motion activated lights (not sure why, but they were handy at the moment).

Peter hit the button to close the shutters before he put Wade down on the couch, making sure the wings were draped over the open side away from the entertainment system that seemed to be the one pride and joy that Wade had ever safe house. Wade did not move. His wings trembled with the strain of holding them in place, and yet he held them in place.

Peter bit his lip thoughtfully. What more could he do? He needed to get Wade to relax, in order to get the man to come out of his head. There was only one thing he could think of.

Peter peeled off the top of his suit (mask and all) and popped the snaps of his binder, letting his wings out. Careful not to look at them he took up a station next to Wade and held his wing over the older man, like a mother sheltering her nestling. Nothing. Slowly, Peter began to sing.

“When the leaves fly into the sky, they sing ‘come fly, come fly’.” The song was an old one; a nursery song that everyone knew. A lullaby. Wade sucked in a huge, shuddering breath.

Encouraged, Peter continued. “The sun dances through the sky, and calls, ‘come fly, come fly’. The birds in the trees sing into the sky, ‘come fly, come fly’. The white fluffy clouds spin through the sky, ‘come fly, come fly’.”

Wade’s wings relax, but he sits, breathing heavily as his eyes pinned nervously in the light. Peter kept his voice soft and as rhythmic as possible. “The bees in the trees challenge the sky, ‘come fly, come fly’. The soft warm breeze calls to the sky, ‘come fly, come fly’.”

Wade calms down enough to sing the last line with him. “The sun in the blue, laughs and calls, ‘you too, you too’.” He sighed and slumped against Peter, who easily held his weight. Peter, seeing the crooked feathers across from him gently reached out and began to straighten them.

Touching someone’s wing without permission was taboo, but Wade had always seemed to enjoy it. As if he sensed the need for mutual preening that Peter had, a need that was never expressed. It wouldn't surprise him if Wade knew; the man couldn’t have been a top class mercenary without learning how people operated.

As always the preening seemed to make Wade relax a little and his head tilted towards Peter’s. “Hey,” he rasped out, voice hoarse as though he’d been screaming.

Peter smiled. Sure Wade wasn’t his usual snappy self just yet, but he’d get there. “Hey, yourself,” he said teasingly.

Wade smiled back and reached out. His fingers (still gloved) came into contact with Peter’s wings.

Peter’s still visible wings.

The blood drained from his face.

Wade shuddered as he watched the blood drain out of Peter’s face. Why was the younger man upset? “Peter?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter said backing away as he tucked his wings behind him.

Wade reached for him and gently grabbed his hands. “For what?” he asked. Peter wouldn't look at him.

“I know—I know my wings are—not pleasant,” he said awkwardly.

What? For the first time ever, Wade took a good look (he was getting to see Spidey’s wings) at Peter’s wings. They looked amazing; they weren’t like any wings that Wade had ever seen before. Mostly clear, like glass clear, there were moving spots of red, blue, and white in them. They didn’t look quite real; more like what those people at the church said an angel’s wings should look like or a costume than real wings.

But the muscles were tense under those feathers, and that didn’t happen with costumes. Plus, Peter didn’t have the humped back that bound wings gave under the wings, like people did for costumes. So, these were his real wings.

And, like—jealous! Wade’s wings were essentially twisted scar tissue with feathers that miraculously managed to work enough to get him into the air. (He’d never the be the graceful flier that he’d been before Weapon X, but he could still take to the air.) But Peter’s wings—Peter’s wings were a work of _art_.

A work of art that he seemed to be ashamed of.

“Your wings are beautiful,” Wade said as stared, eyes roaming over the twitching feathers.

“They’re not—they’re not normal,” Peter said, breath hitching on a sob.

Wade was slammed by a sense of deja vu. The two of them had had this conversation before—but the roles had been reversed. Then, it had been _Wade_ wanting to hide his wings, ashamed of them.

How had Peter helped him?

Wade reached out and gently cupped Peter’s chin and forced the younger man to look at him. “What do you think of my wings?” he asked softly.

Peter frowned, but appeared willing to go with what he surely thought was a change in subject. “Your wings are great,” he said.

Aw. His voice and face were so confused. It was great. Wade smiled and lifted one of his wings, displaying the knotted tissue covered with haphazardly pointing feathers. “No one else would say so,” he said calmly. He could speak of this calmly, now, because he’d had Peter who had shown him it was okay.

It was okay that his wings weren’t perfect. It was okay his wings didn’t look pleasing. It was okay that his wings made other people recoil in horror at how twisted they were now. The important things, the only things, were that they were healthy, and could get him off the ground. That was the lesson that Peter had taught him.

Wade carefully, making sure to telegraph every movement so that Peter could duck away if he was uncomfortable, reached over and gently traced the upper curve of one of Peter’s wings. The muscles trembled under his touch and Wade couldn't help but remember the first time that Peter had ever groomed his wings. It had been the first time in _years_ that someone had touched his wings and he had both wanted to lean into the touch and run far away from it. From the looks of Peter’s face, he was having the same dilemma. “Your wings are amazing,” Wade said reverentially. “I’ve never seen wings like this before.”

Peter gave a low, shuddering gasp before leaning into Wade’s torso. “They used to be brown,” he mumbled.

Brown?

Well, Wade supposed that made sense. If a child had been born with the wings that Peter now sported, he would have made international news. Poor kid never would have had a break.

Wade clumsily (he wasn’t sure he remembered how) tried to groom one of Peter’s wings. “When did it change?” he asked calmly.

“With the spider bite,” Peter admitted. The words were muffled as Peter pressed himself into Wade’s chest, but Wade could still understand him. “I went to bed with normal wings and a fever and woke up—with _this_.”

In any other situation, the older man would have been shocked. Not only was such a venomous sound coming from _Peter’s_ voice, but it was in reference to a wonderful pair of wings! Still, Wade knew well, far too well, what it was like having wings that he was afraid to show. And the wings could (definitely would) give up Peter’s identity. Wade wasn’t certain how it hadn’t happened yet—except that wing binders were common as people tried to pretend their wings were more fantastic than they were—except for Peter who had, apparently, been pretending they were normal.

Wade’s fingers were clumsy and failing at grooming. He accidentally pulled out a feather to a muffled squawk from Peter, so he decided to ditch his gloves. Much better. While he liked the costume, the thick material made fine motor movements difficult. Peter’s feathers fluffed to allow him access to the fine, soft downy feathers under the longer sleek ones as he worked. As Wade worked, Peter’s hands reached up and out and began grooming Wade’s own wings.

Wade had never done anything like this before. Even when he’d been with his prior love, his focus had been on preening her _first_. She usually preened him after. And that had been great!

But this? This was blowing his mind away. There was something so tender and sweet about mutual preening. He wondered if this could become a thing, now that the two of them knew what each other’s wings looked like. It was sweet and soothing and he…

...fell asleep. Woke up in Peter’s arms, who was also asleep. And so cute! There was the most _adorable_ little dribble of drool at the corner of Peter’s mouth. Wade carefully wiped it away as Peter murmured sleepily and clutched him tighter.

Sweet!

Peter woke, mouth open and dry, to the sound of his phone going off. He sleepily answered it. “H’llo?” he said.

“I can’t, I just can’t, _you_ talk to him!”

Peter heard a voice in the background. “Man of Iron, I—”

“Nope!” Tony turned back to the phone. “Get over here now. Maybe _you_ can talk some sense into this intergalactic neanderthal idiot.” The phone beeped as the connection was cut and Peter pulled it away to sleepily stare at the screen.

“What’s got the metal panties in a twist now?” asked Wade softly as his fingers gently stroked through Peter’s feathers.

Peter leaned into the touch. It had been _so_ long since anyone had preened him. He didn’t want it to stop.

Duty called. He sighed and pulled back. “Don’t know. Some kind of mess at the Tower. Come with?” he asked.

One of Wade’s eyebrow ridges wiggled suggestively. “Oh, I’m always ready to _come_ with you,” he said salaciously.

Peter giggled and gave him a quick, chaste kiss. “Maybe later,” he said warmly. “Wanna see what all the fuss at the Tower is about?” Peter broke away and got his binder. He tucked his wings into it and slipped his top and mask back on.

“Hmm? Oh, my brain derailed when it realized that I spent the night with a half-naked Peter in my arms and nothing sexy happened.”

Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes before propping his hands on his hips. “Well,” he said amiably as Wade got himself dressed, “maybe we can fix that last part after we figure out what’s wrong at the tower.”

“Maybe so.” Wade hit the button to make the shutters retract and the two of them left.

Once they reached the Tower, Peter was shocked to see that Tony was pacing, his huge wings trailing behind him as his eyes pinned in agitation. In the room behind him was Thor, the massive presence. “You!” Tony said as he pointed to Peter. “You explain this!” He turned to Thor. “You tell him just what you told me.”

Thor was clearly confused. “Very well,” he said. Suddenly his face brightened and he turned to gesture to a huge black wolf that was almost his height beside him. Peter wasn’t certain how he hadn’t noticed the creature before; he loved dogs. “This is my nephew Fenrir,” he said proudly. “Mighty warrior of seven realms and countless worlds. I have brought him to introduce him to Earth’s mightiest warriors!”

Thor.

After having introduced a pandemic the likes of which the world had never seen before through his travels.

Brought his _nephew_ , who had traveled more than Thor himself.

Peter had no words.

Wade said, “Wait, is the blond god trying to kill humanity? ‘Cause there are easier ways to do it.”

Wade couldn't believe it. The gravity of the situation had been drilled into Thor’s head by none other than the less smashy version of Hulk. And Peter was practically living at Wade’s apartment.

True, Peter wouldn’t let his wings out unless the shutters were down and there was no possible way for anyone to see him. Anyone other than Wade, that is. Peter had no problem with Wade seeing his wings. And he looked more at home in Wade’s apartment than Wade had any right to hope.

There would be trouble in the future. There always would. People were always going to commit crimes as long as they were people.

But this? Right now? This was _perfect_.


End file.
